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by Enige-iets
Summary: Ex-Knight and living happily as a shiphand/layabout, Seifer Almasy was content to spend the rest of his days as far from 'society' as was strictly possible. But now he's been landed with a small child which is - according to the raven-faced social worker - a distant relative and now, Seifer's charge. Pink aprons and eggs in the morning (sunny side up) were NEVER his thing. Seiftis


_**A/N:** _You may blame Politelycynical for this. She inspired me to write again. You know I must have four things on the go now, after having revived a few old stories. I promise chapters for Cancer and Drink Up Me Hearties! Yo Ho! are being produced... probably not as you read this because I'm meant to be doing something academic right now. Bleh. But I will have them posted when I've finished my assignments :3

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><p>His eyes just about popped out of his head, seeing that little boy stood out on the doorstep, clasping tightly to the hand of the sour faced social worker who had rung his bell. But if Seifer Almasy could be called anything, then stoic was that thing. He stopped staring at the small blond boy and looked instead at the social worker.<p>

"Can I help you?" His tone said exactly what he wanted it to; he wasn't one to open the door for just anyone and that she better have a damned good reason for standing there with a face like thunder.

"Are you Mr S Almasy?" She asked, voice high with irritation as she looked him up and down. She even sniffed!

"Unless there's some other public enemy living at this address." He said sarcastically and made a show of peering around the porch and the scrap of front yard.

Her eyebrow – plucked to a painfully thin greying line – pulled up towards a receding hairline ad she held out a clipboard to him. He took it and gave it a once over.

"What the hell is this?" He asked, turning it around and stabbing a finger at the title on the paper. "It says the Galbadian Centre of Adoption."

"It is your adoption papers, Mr Almasy." She said, practically shouldering her way into his house, towing the small boy along behind her.

"I didn't sign up for this," He complained, following her into the cramped, outdated kitchen, "Oiy, don't just invite yourself in!"

She put her handbag down on the table, completely ignoring the fact that Seifer was fast losing his cool. "You are the last remaining relative of this boy. You don't have a choice, Mr Almasy."

He let out a bark of mirthless laughter and shook his head, "I don't have any living relatives. I am the last of my line."

"Incorrect," She said, rooting through her bag and pulling out a ballpoint pen. She held it out to Seifer, who eyed it without even making a move to touch it. "You and the boy are related by blood. You're his legal guardian."

"Shouldn't I have been informed of this beforehand?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest and letting the clipboard dangle by his side.

"Several letters have been sent, Mr Almasy. You _were_ informed." She waggled the pen at him until his snatched it out of her hand and – after some hesitation – scribbled his name on the bottom of each piece of paper, next to the 'X's.

"Now then." She sniffed again as she looked around, holding out her hand for the clipboard which he willingly handed over. Anything to part with the thing. "Where is the boy going to sleep?"

"Pfft, anywhere he likes!" Seifer almost laughed. It was such a preposterous idea, that he would have prepared a bed for a small boy without previously having known he was coming, or – upon discovering his arrival – welcomed him in! Was she just plain dumb, or _trying_ to be annoying?

"You must look after him, Mr Almasy. It is the law and your duty as his guardian."

"Oh don't preach to me, woman." He rolled his eyes, refolding his arms and setting himself into a position not entirely unlike Commander Puberties 'sexy pose'. Or 'dickwad pose' as Seifer fondly referred to it as. "I don't have much respect for the law and you have no right to tell me about my 'duty'. It seems I've done a better job of fulfilling that than you have."

"What do you mean?" She snapped, tone icy.

"You're supposed to be a social worker, helping helpless children get adopted by loving, law-abiding families who are going to love them and raise them to be lovely, law-abiding citizens." He explained with a shrug. "It was my duty to lead the war and complete my orders. I managed that, you haven't."

She looked as though she was going to say something else and had an expression on her face that promised lecturing and boredom. He heaved a sigh and grabbed her handbag, shoving it into her chest and gripping her elbow. While she spluttered over a complaint about his man-handling of her, he wheeled her towards the front door and escorted her out onto the porch.

"Thank you very much for my latest burden." He said, faking a dazzling smile. "If there's anything else you want to dump on me feel free to just drop by, but until then," He waved cheerily, "Ciao." And slammed the door in her face.

Upon his return to the kitchen, the little boy was still stood there, exactly where the woman had left him. The two boys looked each other first up, and then down, and then the little boy's lip began to wobble and tears began to form in his baby blue eyes.

Seifer heaved a sigh and went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and crouching down, holding it out to the child and waiting for him to take it. He did so tentatively, but didn't open it, just standing there holding it. Seifer scratched at the back of his head, unsure of what to do. As a rule, he didn't like children; they smelt, cried, broke things, whined, shrieked and lied. And they were so stupid, putting their hands in things they shouldn't, touching things they shouldn't, running away from the stupidest of things and ignoring perfectly valid and well-meaning advice. He ought to know, he had been one himself once.

This child, however, had a perfectly legitimate reason to cry; he was faced with the one and only Seifer Almasy.

"So… What should I call you?" Seifer asked, putting on his softest voice and trying not to maintain eye contact for too long. He had read somewhere that maintaining eye contact for long periods of time was a sign of aggression and the last thing he needed was to put the willies in some kid he was trying to talk to.

"Thomas…"

"It's a nice name."

"Mhmm…"

"So… What do you have in your bag, Thomas?" Seifer asked, pointing to the top of a Thomas the Tank Engine rucksack that the little boy had on his back.

Thomas pulled it off and set it on the floor, opening it and pouring the contents onto the kitchen floor. A set of blue striped pyjamas and a dog-eared old colouring book. Not many possessions for a small boy, but then Seifer supposed he had had even less when he turned up at Edea's door. He had nought then but his skin and the stitches holding it all together. And a horrible little hospital paper gown. Thomas was doing remarkably well by comparison!

However… "What about your clothes?" The little boy looked down. "Do you have any more?" He shook his head.

Seifer heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hand. _What_ a predicament. The kid had no clothing, it was getting on to 1700 hours so most of the shops around him would be shutting and there was no time to drive to the next town before those shops shut too, so he couldn't go out and buy any. He had no bed for the kid to sleep in and nothing really for him to eat. The little guy was frightened of him and neither of them really wanted him to be there. Plus, Seifer had little enough money to support _himself_ on, let alone a small child.

"Thomas," He looked the boy over again, "How old are you?"

"5 and a half…" Came the whispered reply. Seifer had to resist a smile; of course, every fraction counted when you were that age.

"Are you hungry?"

A shake of the head.

"Tired?"

Another shake.

"When was the last time you had a shower?"

"Shower?"

"Bath?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want a bath?" Seifer suggested and the boy looked shifty, as though bathing was a bad thing. Of course at that age it probably was, but he was running out of options of what to say because the boy just kept shaking his head. He didn't appear to want anything. Unsurprisingly, the little boy shook his head. Seifer sighed and straightened up, giving him the best 'Edea face' that the ex-knight could manage. "I think you should have a bath."

Thomas burst into tears.

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><p>What. A. Day. The beginning of it had gone quite well really, Seifer could laze about – because it was Tuesday and he never worked on Tuesdays – and watch telly, drink beer, do whatever the hell he wanted. He didn't feel any guilt about slouching about the house all day because every other day of his week was spent at the ship yard, working hard, hauling propeller engines around, piping and the like. He took a late lunch of stale cornflakes and was just considering going out drinking when his doorbell had rung. There, the trouble had begun.<p>

Instead of just being Seifer Almasy, lone gun and town outsider, he was now the guardian of some five year old kid who was supposedly some distant relative of his! He personally found it hard to believe. The kid didn't have a stiff upper lip or anything. He cried in the kitchen, cried as Seifer led him upstairs to the bathroom, while Seifer ran him a bath – not very deep mind, lest the kid manage to drown himself in an inch of water – and again when Seifer found him on the stairs a little while later, wet, but dressed in his striped pyjamas. Seifer had ushered him upstairs again, crying, into Seifer's own room and tucked him into the freshly made bed with a box of tissues by his pillow.

It was now 2030 hours and Seifer was knackered. He was collapsed on the sofa with a blanket and a few of the cushions jammed under his head. He struggled weakly against the blanket, trying to arrange it in a more favourable fashion across him as sleep started setting in. His only hope was that tomorrow be better. That, or this whole thing be a dream.

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><p><em><strong><span>AN: **_I hope this was alright and my turn of phrase was acceptable. It's been a while since I wrote anything that wasn't formal documentation :\

Anyway, leave a review, advice, critique, etc. You know the drill!

-Iets


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